No Cure, Yet

the purpose of the common cold:
perhaps to be grateful
when we get well

Catching Up

I am tired of your complaints
your envy and emptiness
when I am here before you
thinking I was once grateful
to be meeting you again

Mother’s Shade

I did not realize
That eternity
Was built
On the backs of people.
And took for granted
The loved ones
Providing shelter
To one like me.
If only I had told
Of my gratefulness sooner
And learned how
To architect my own.

At Thanksgiving

Mothers give you the whole wishbone;
They tell you half-dreams are an impossibility —
That all the goodness in your future
Is already yours

For Will

Never have I been so grateful
Never have I admired someone
For being so strong